


Discomfort of Sympathy

by Hashilavalamp



Series: We reap what we sow [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1920s, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Illustrated, Post-World War I, hyperinflation of 1923
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hashilavalamp/pseuds/Hashilavalamp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of World War I, everyone must see what is best for themselves; too bad for some that the best comes at the expense of Germany. Curious to see the one who started this mess, America travels to a small German village at the height of July to inspect the severity of the crisis in person, but to his great dismay he discovers that his presence is not appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discomfort of Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> More content from me!  
> All I have to say to this is that lots of dialogue awaits, and I am sorry. Also the illustrations are becoming more and more elaborate, haha  
> In a way this piece "mirrors" Intermezzo.

July, 1923

Dust rises whenever his polished shoes hit the ground, the summer heat having mercilessly scorched anything the sun’s rays had touched the day before.

A man hurries through the streets, and even if the stale air is breathable still and the suit not yet too stuffy and warm thanks to the early hour of the day, he takes off his suit jacket, lets it hang over his arm after he has pushed up the sleeves of his dress shirt all the way to his elbows.

Just last month the British pest had moaned to him on the telephone about the terrible weather and the humidity and the wretched cold that plagued his continent, and now? Now stifling heat has set in and Alfred would give a whole lot for a nice little shower of rain – the few forlorn faces he passes on his way tell him wordlessly that he is by far the only person entertaining that fantasy.

He risks another glance at his watch and a curse slips over his lips as he breaks out into a light jog.  
Should’ve asked the driver to get him to the other side of town right away instead of letting himself believe that he would manage to take a nice little stroll through the area and be on time all the same. He’ll honestly need to have a little word with his past self, he thinks grimly as he quickly rounds the corner and takes a heavy sigh of relief when the name on the street sign finally matches the address he was given.

Before he proceeds, he fixes his attire to his best abilities and shrugs the suit jacket back on because even if the fabric is wrinkled now, it’s only polite. One last time he brushes through his bangs with his fingers for lack of comb on hand, rights the glasses that have slipped down a little on the sweaty skin of his nose.

Appear presentable and on time, was the only somewhat useful advice Arthur had given him. Francis had been completely unhelpful in his spite and gloating, and the letters he had exchanged with Ludwig himself in recent times had been very curt and mostly concerned with setting up this little meeting, no personal words wasted on him. And ah, their previous meetings had always been more of a clash, confined to the tumult of desperate gunfire where people a stripped to their core, but you don’t exactly learn how to converse with them politely under these circumstances. Neither do you learn much in the constraints of conferences while you are busy signing away the other’s pride with a smile on your face.

So Alfred is going into this with only a skewed idea of what to expect.

In hindsight, perhaps not the cleverest decision of his life.

He’s fashionably late, he decides when he glances at his watch again, and then strides down the street to the little square whose surroundings are visually dominated by an old crumbling church, a pleasant smile blooming on his face when he discovers the figure of the one he is seeking.

The blond man turns around, and the new arrival waves cheerfully.

“Germany! A pleasure to finally properly meet you!” he exclaims loudly, neverminding how it projects in a space like this and immediately sticking out his hand for a handshake, inwardly wincing when the other’s grip nearly pulverizes the bones of that hand.

“America. Good to see you.” the man returns the greeting a lot less enthusiastically and with an almost audaciously casual rudeness. A frown marrs his already harsh but hauntingly young features when he finally releases Alfred. “I was afraid you would be running much too late”

“Mhm, the roads here aren’t so well suited for automobiles, and then the driver made the grave mistake of leaving me on the other side of town, the fool. Took a bit for me to find this place” the American grumbles as he demonstratively shakes out his hand, hoping for concern that doesn’t come.

He allows himself to take the moment to inspect the appearance of the other, the first chance he has for this in a casual setting.

It is glaring first and foremost that Ludwig isn’t dressed in a drab suit like him, having opted instead for a laborer’s work clothes as if in solidarity with the dirty Russian. Even has the sleeves pushed up to his elbows to combat the heat, and while the irony isn’t lost on Alfred considering his earlier actions, he purses his lips.

So much for impeccable appearance; from the few glimpses Alfred has had of his German host in the past, he at least always had his hair neatly combed back, but now there isn’t even that. The bangs are simply brushed to the side, hardly styled, while Alfred had battled with his hair at 5 in the morning just to get it to obey him. So much hair wax had been sacrificed.  
Is this really the child Prussia had raised?

Either this is an imposter or Ludwig isn’t taking this meeting seriously at all.

And okay, it—is supposed to not be one of these stiff official occasions where the humans pull the strings and make the decisions while their nations prettily sit around and wait for the verdict. It should be a friendly outing, a chance for him to get to know Ludwig a little! (A chance to judge Germany’s worth.)

But he still expected… more. Somehow. Francis and Arthur had made him out to be so much more than this— had build up a monster in people’s heads taller than skyscrapers, so he had expected– more than a grumpy man who spits on base politeness and looks like any lost pedestrian on these desolate streets.

How disappointing.  
Or is there something he is missing?

“How are you? And if it’s not too forward of course, allow me to ask…why are you here and not in Berlin with your brother?” Alfred inquires with a slight strain on his smile, trying to simply ignore the emotion and keep an open mind about this, even if his hopes are dwindling faster than anticipated.

“As I am sure you would have noticed, things haven’t been quite that well around here; if you care to hear, the population here is overflowing with dissatisfaction. It has put a slight strain on my constitution, but I decided to retreat to towns such as this one for the duration of the crisis in order to lift the spirits of people in more remote areas while Gilbert oversees politics; he can handle the men in Berlin on his own. I’d sooner feel sorry for the politicians than my brother under the current circumstances” Ludwig responds bluntly, his frown deepening further as he stares off into the distance and his practiced tone leaves Alfred a bit at a loss for words and terribly uncomfortable.

Ludwig is one of those men, left bitter and disappointed after a war lost, his youth like a mask hiding a being much older and worn. Alfred’s never been very adept at handling the negative emotional afflictions of others; their frowns and tears always make him feel too put on the spot, too pressured to do and say all the right soothing things, the atmosphere becomes much too unpleasant, and in the bright burn of truth he knows that the discomfort he experiences tends to outweigh whatever sympathies he might have held otherwise.

And this is much too heavy for how he imagined today to go.

“Ah, right, the crisis…” he echoes lamely thus, fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of his suit’s sleeve and kicking up dust. His blue eyes dart across the square, to see if not perhaps there is anything of interest here that can keep the swell of unease in his chest at bay.

But the facades are washed out and everyone has already left the comfort of home for work; nobody comes to the church at this hour, so Alfred is stranded at sea with no lifelines to grab onto to rescue himself from this situation.

“Do you even know what I am referring to?”

“Naturally! The news of a financial crisis in the very heart of Europe reaches even my boss, Ludwig!” he replies mayhaps a little too quickly as he immediately senses the glare of Ludwig’s eyes on him. Intense eyes, Ludwig has there. The dark circles under them make it worse.

“It’s hyperinflation, America” his companion says sharply, wandering towards a little bench to the side of the square underneath a tree, a little oasis of shadow.

“Still finance” Alfred mutters with a small pout when he takes his seat next to the German, grateful for the little bit of shadow as the temperatures are beginning to rise. He feels like he’s being cooked in his suit like a lobster.

“Financial crisis is certainly applicable a term.”

“It is” Ludwig relents with a surprising lack of resistance, words tinged instead with a bitterness that seeps into every of the man’s movements, even when he only picks at his cuticles until blood wells to the surface. “But I want you to understand what exactly this means. If that aligns with your interests.”

“You know, it’s not a fantastic strategy to imply you believe the other person doesn’t care when they are merely trying to be a friend, Ludwig. It comes across as rather arrogant. I do care to understand, and I am just trying to be a friend, so please spare me your distrust.”

Ludwig has the decency to look guilty for a moment at that, a scolded child biting his cracked bottom lip, averting his eyes. A drop of blood rises to the surface there too. Bloody lip and bloody ragged skin around nails.

His facial expression remains guarded, a glint of hostility still lingering in his sunken blue eyes when he looks at Alfred again. “I have difficulty believing that.”

“Have I given you reason to question my sincerity? I can assure you that I was genuine in all our interactions” Alfred says saccharine-sweetly and meets the gaze head-on, no more trepidation plaguing him now that it has been revealed to him that Germany is not the impressive powerhouse his boss talks of, not the shadow monsters on the wall like Francis paints him, not the madman he remembers from the bloodied fields.

He’s only a bitter man.

In a financial crisis—  
excuse him–  
stuck with hyperinflation.

And it’s sad because Alfred was excited for this, meeting the tin soldier that Gilbert had crafted. He really did want to befriend this sorry excuse for a nation, this nation that is young as he is.

(In reality Alfred hasn’t been young in a while, but still he feels sympathy for those that are.)

“Oh, I don’t know” Ludwig scoffs and his mouth twitches as if he were holding back a snarl, and the bleeding hands ball into fists as his body tenses in anger, curling in on itself slightly. “Your boss has worked out that wretched treaty with them, hasn’t he? You had your fingers in all of this and now stick them deep into the wounds. Millions are dead and all of you have blamed it so readily on me and my brother, and now when everything is already falling apart you come to pick at the leftovers like godforsaken vultures! Is that the American idea of friendship?”

Ludwig’s face twists for a second in deep hurt, which for some reason makes him look so much younger, like a boy that has only just hit adulthood, raw and terrified.  
However the expression quickly disappears behind a deadpan face, sealing the sea of emotion and keeping it from sight. Was this something that Alfred wasn’t supposed to see?

“Since you weren’t present, you may not be aware but I was the one who argued we should be more lenient! It was I who reined Francis in when he got too aggressive, because aggressive he did get! And, and…nobody blames solely you anymore, they all played their part in this, this tragedy” Alfred presses with the attempt to retain a light conversational tone, all the while edging closer to Ludwig, who instantly tries to scoot away from him, stopped only by then armrest of the bench.  
It does not fit him after all to be too grave, Ludwig is already spreading enough depression.  
“Of course. My economy is too valuable to have it be mismanaged by a Frenchman” Ludwig states drily, mouth again twitching into a sneer briefly. “And not even that worked out for you because of the state of finances. But no matter, your people have found a way to make profit.”

“Why are you making it so difficult for me?” Alfred whines, giving up the fight against the elements, taking off his hat and easing off his suit jacket once more.  
Ludwig flinches when Alfred nearly hits him with his sharp elbow, a tremor in his hands.

“I am not making it difficult on purpose. You are simply not very convincing, Alfred” Ludwig says, finally giving something resembling a smile, if only it weren’t so grim. His facial expressions are all pretty unsettling, frown and smile alike.  
“What do you want me to do then? I am really trying, Ludwig! Young nations like you and I should be sticking together against all these old men and women and not bicker about things that I can’t control in the first place!”  
“As I have stated before, I struggle to believe that this is really what your intention is. I may not know you well, but what you have shown so far is that you are a man overly concerned with the appearance of things and his own personal gain. …I have been told that I am too quick to judge, but in these times there isn’t anyone besides Gilbert who I can put my trust into. Least of all a nation that has been complicit in bringing about this misery for my people.”

Alfred huffs. “You will simply have to trust me, because I can assure you that my people and I have no interest in seeing you in such a pathetic state.”

Ludwig gives a pinched expression and gestures to the street from which Alfred had come, either side of it lined with the fancier houses of the neighborhood, the glare of bright facades stinging in the American’s eyes as the sunlight hits them.  
“All of these are owned by Americans who came by here a few weeks ago. They rejoice at the cheap prices at which they can buy estates here because the people will accept about any amount of payment by this point as long as it’s in dollars. You should keep an eye on your wallet in places like these because not everyone is so virtuous anymore.”

Alfred clicks his tongue, annoyance gnawing at the back of his mind. “So you are angry that my people are not bastions of virtue? I don’t think any of us can claim that. Obviously not even you.”

Wordlessly Ludwig begins to dig through his pockets and Alfred’s breath stills for a second when he realizes that what the other is procuring there is a bundle of money, the bills crumpled from having been carried around carelessly like that.  
Warily the American takes one of the papers offered and lets out a loud whistle when he sees the number printed upon it. “Five billion mark!”  
“And completely useless.”  
“Completely?”  
“Utterly. The children use bundles of these as blocks for playing because they cannot afford actual toys with this currency. Others use them for heating. The workers receive their payment in the mornings so they may buy food before the value falls even more, and by now they are using wheelbarrows to cart around all the useless money.”  
“Wheelbarrows, now that sounds severe! How much does simple bread cost then?”

Ludwig simply shrugs, ripping further at his skin. “I don’t know. I haven’t been eating much in recent times since the likes of us rely less on such things, and the prices change so quickly. Could be trillions by now.”

…

Ha!

“Oooh! Oh, I get it now!” Alfred exclaims and claps his hands together, crushing the worthless bank note as he shoots the other a stern look that contrasts with his light tone and the seemingly easy smile on his lips. “You are an intelligent man, Ludwig, trying to appeal to my empathy to guilt-trip me!”  
“Guilt-tripping—Are you really so stupid and distasteful, or are you merely pretending in order to rob me of my last nerves!” the German barks, starting to lean in threateningly, and even if Alfred knows that he won’t be harmed, the sight is still uncomfortable enough to drown out the sting of insult.

“I think I made it clear enough that I expect nothing from you and least of all desire your pity! All I asked for is understanding for what that treaty has been doing to these people, and if you are so interested in friendship with me, why can you extend not even that to me and instead accuse me of stooping so low! Why do you insist on acting like you have no blood on your hands!”

Alfred bites his lip, the burning sun on his skin forgotten for the moment when his blood runs cold at the harsh words and feeling uncharacteristically humbled by the rawness of them.  
Alfred’s throat feels tight again, his head starting to pound as an omen of the migraine to come.

He hates to be the one to be left to take care of those dealing with hurt and guilt and resentment, he had already hated that with Francis and Arthur when they had appealed to him only to call him into trenches, and he hates to be seen through. By such a sorry excuse for a nation of all people.  
Somehow ironic, but irony was always Arthur’s thing and not Alfred’s.

Dust rises when he aimlessly kicks his legs. Next to him, Ludwig has his head turned to the side to hide whatever he is feeling now.  
image

Dust motes dance in the light, Alfred’s vision blurring and swimming in the heat radiating off the ground. Noon is coming for them, and they just sit there nursing their egos.

“This was botched from the beginning, wasn’t it. Started off on the wrong leg, so to speak. Perhaps we should start over. What do you say, Germany?” Alfred ventures eventually, defeated and sincere.  
“Perhaps we should.”  
“I will have you know though that I have some money and cigarettes on me and am willing to share.”  
“Give those to the humans, not me. I have no use for these things.”

The American sighs, though the smile returns to touch his lips. “See! You really are making it difficult for me!” Ludwig meets his look with confusion, so Alfred waves it off. “I will take the liberty of changing the topic though; so, ah, ah… as you would be aware Gilbert once taught me too, in the past. I’d… I’d be curious to hear to know what he has told you about me. Whatever his words were, I am beginning to believe they have unfairly warped your perception of me.”

For the very first time, Ludwig’s eyes crinkle in actual amusement, and a rough laugh rings out. Sounds nice actually, without rage poisoning it, more human. “He told me about how you and your soldiers were an unhygienic mess, devoid of proper discipline and the basic understanding of how to wash and where not to piss.”

Alfred’s face promptly colors red-

He jumps to his feet, a finger pointing accusingly as clouds of dust ruin his trousers, glass promptly askew– “Your brother is quite the liar, Ludwig! He just disapproves of anything that differs from him, you see, just like you!”

“He does not, that is where your perception is warped” Ludwig corrects promptly, his face back to serious and hardened, only the small spark of amusement hinting at some goodwill. “Even if he does not trust democracy as a concept, he is not moving to sabotage it in any way, that accusation would be ugly. Were it not for this financial crisis with Francis growling at us like a spoiled lapdog from the west, I believe he could learn to be content, one day. You’d do well to not pass judgement onto things you don’t understand.”

How curious, America thinks as his shoulders sag and the nervous jolt leaves him exhausted, falling back on the bench with a groan. He looks up to the sky, squinting until the sun forces him to close his eyes.

Even Prussia, even Prussia is changing, can it be believed? Is the world really that strange, so unfamiliar now?

And maybe that German isn’t such a horrible disappointment after all either, at least enough to keep his interest for longer than five minutes, and that’s more than some others have managed. There is something brewing under that surface, the kind of something that dyes continents red. Either through bullets or manifestos, the worst things to shake the world.

For Alfred that means he’s got to tiptoe around finances and hyperinflations and stacks of money and vultures of real estate. And accusations.

They remain seated on their little bench while the sun burns in the sky, until Alfred decides he has enough of it and drags Ludwig somewhere where they can wait somewhere cooler for the hour to arrive when he can get a drink, because there are only two states in which a man is truly honest. They have already met in battle, so now all that is left to knowing each other is to get intoxicated together.

Plus, he is so sick of moonshine.

.

.

.

“It is unfair, entirely unfair… Why are you, you still so—sober? Did Gilbert raise you on beer?”


End file.
